


Closer

by Wolfscub



Category: British Actor RPF, tom hiddleston actor
Genre: Erotica, F/M, Hair Pulling, Mildly Dominant Tom, roughish sex, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 21:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2522663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfscub/pseuds/Wolfscub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OFC is singing in the shower, waiting for Tom to arrive at their hotel room for their reunion after a long separation.</p><p>Schmexy times ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

> NSFW!!!
> 
> Mature Audiences ONLY, please!!!
> 
> Eh, just something that came to me on the long ride into town, inspired by the Nine Inch Nails song, _Closer_
> 
> Pure smut.
> 
> Erotica, Smutty Smut Smut, Roughish Sex, Hair Pulling, Sex, Dommish!Tom

I stood beneath the shower, letting the water just beat down on my face while my iPhone blared songs from my "Preferred" playlist and I sang along - badly, but enthusiastically, at the top of my lungs.

I'd arrived at the upscale hotel we preferred in Boston before he had - and I forgave him that because he had a much longer trip than I had driving down from my sister's in northern New Hampshire.

I'd told him I was perfectly fine picking him up at Logan - I used to live around the city a thousand years ago, and the traffic didn't intimidate me in the least.

"No," Tom cut me off abruptly. "I appreciate the offer, but if I see you in the airport I'll take you to the floor and fuck you right there in front of God and Homeland Security."

His voice was much huskier than usual and I knew he was feeling at least as deprived as I was. It had been two months - two horrible, lonely, interminably long months - that we'd been apart, and he had long since vowed that he would _never_ allow it to be that long ever again. None of the current technological advances was anywhere near good enough, and he had ranted more times than I could count, before, during and after Skype or phone sex, long, torrid email exchanges and sexts that singed my hand as I held my phone, that he was going to die if he couldn't sink himself into me within the next several seconds.

His right hand was callused, he said, and people were beginning to notice.

To say nothing of the fact that it was nowhere near as good as my mouth.

Or my pussy.

I expected him at any minute and hurriedly washed myself - having to retain rigid control over my hands, knowing that if I brought myself off now he'd know - he always knew, somehow - and I'd be in trouble. 

Besides, when I came next, I wanted it to be while he fucked me silly.

Or with that beautiful head of his between my legs, I wasn't fussy.

My middle and index fingers were at least as chapped as his hand.

I had almost rinsed all of the shampoo out of my hair when one of my favorite songs came on.

 _Closer_ , by Nine Inch Nails.

I could hear the heavy drumbeat that was the introduction, and it was up so loud that I could feel the vibration of the bass beneath my bare feet.

All of a sudden, I felt a muscular arm wrap itself around my waist and I was yanked unceremoniously out of the tub and slammed up against him fit to knock the breath out of me.

I wasn't given a chance to recover before his mouth latched onto mine, his tongue pushing aggressively past my lips, plundering almost violently just before he lifted his head and I couldn't control my whimper as I met those azure pools of his. I tried to arch a bit away automatically, just because of how he had surprised me.

His face was hard and set, much less welcoming than usual, and almost frighteningly intent as that strong arm contracted around me, not letting me move much at all, his hand coming up to thrust his fingers close against my scalp and pull, hurting me in a way he knew would only ratchet my desire just that much higher, ruthlessly controlling my head and holding me still for his lips and tongue to assault me again.

I was dripping all over him in more ways than just the obvious, his white t-shirt and jeans rapidly becoming damp but he didn't seem to notice. I should have been shivering in the coolness of the marble appointed bathroom, but even in his fevered state he still went the extra mile to take care of me. I could feel the warmth of the heat lamps pouring down on me and knew he had turned them on with me and my comfort in mind.

He broke off the kiss reluctantly, his eyes settling heavily on mine as he walked us both the few steps to the only free wall in the room, using his body to plaster me up against it, giving me nowhere to go but closer to him, my feet still dangling long inches from the floor.

My hands went up to cup his face and bring his mouth back to mine but he deflected them away and I pouted as he set about positioning me the manner he wanted me, not allowing me to wrap my legs around his waist as I tried to, but instead spreading them so widely that I got that lovely feeling of discomfort I always got when he manhandled me, pressing them up and back then draping them over his elbows as he caught a wrist in each hand, holding them to the wall as he held me there.

I was hung up, splayed completely open to him, entirely dependent on him and his masculine strength to keep me from falling. I could see that muscle in his jaw working madly as, even over both of our heavy panting and the song, I heard - and felt - his knuckles stroking teasingly over my most delicate bits as he dispensed with his zipper and his impressiveness burst out of confinement and damned near right into me.

But he held off - surprising me yet again.

Instead of claiming me instantly, he leaned forward, not even kissing me but nuzzling me just beneath my ear - one of my most sensitive spots, he knew, and then I heard it - low and unsteady at first, then getting louder and more fervent as he continued.

" _You let me_ violate _you_ ," he kind of sang the lyric into my ear, putting special emphasis on that potent word and I swear I almost came right then.

I did mewl loudly and struggle against the position he was holding me in, but I knew even as I did it that it was a wasted effort.

He kissed his way around my jaw line to my other ear, and this time the lyric was clearer, low and Lokified, almost threatening, " _You let me_ desecrate _you_."

I knew what the next line was, but there was no time to prepare myself in any way - hell, when he had me like this, I wasn't physically _or_ intellectually _capable_ of preparing myself, either - not with what the bastard was doing to me!

As he ravished me for the first time in so long, as his almost impossible to accommodate length slid into me and I groaned from the intense pressure, the breathtaking feeling of being so completely and totally occupied by him . . . possessed by him, he looked me in the eye and ground out on a primal groan of his own as he flexed his hips inexorably and closed the slight distance that separated us in the most fundamental of ways, " _You let me_ penetrate _you_."

When he hit bottom, when he had claimed me fully, I couldn't stay still. I just couldn't. He wasn't moving yet, so I had to.

But I couldn't.

Being pinned like this - helpless to stop him - which I didn't really want to do - or to join in, which I desperately did - was driving me crazy, and he _knew_ it.

He had rhapsodized over my breasts the entire time we were separated, and when he finally deigned to move, he worked his mouth down to seize a nipple between his teeth, flicking the barest tip of it with his tongue as his teeth held it captive with just a tad bit more pressure than was necessary, treating its twin the same way before he abandoned them - as if he couldn't bear to delay the main event another second. Tom licked - in one smooth motion - the moisture from my body as he made his way back up to my mouth, kissing me like he couldn't get enough of me, making me try to follow him when he lifted his lips from mine.

Then he pressed our foreheads together, growling along with Trent Reznor from deep in his throat.

From deep within _me_ , as he began to _do_ exactly what he was singing about.

" _I wanna fuck you like an_ animal."

It was hard and fast and nearly impossible to keep up with - and it was exactly what we both needed. I knew I would have bruises on my scapulas for days afterwards as he pounded me into the wall, making me practically scream with every heavy, heaving stroke. I saw him grow taller before my eyes and knew that he was rising onto his tiptoes each time he plunged himself into me and I could hear his panting mixing with my own where his face was buried against the base of my neck.

Suddenly my left hand was freed, but he put it where he wanted it, on his broad shoulder and I knew better than to move it from there as his right hand worked its way between us and he began to tickle my clit.

And that was exactly what he was doing, too. In the midst of the violent way he was taking me, he knew how close I was going to be from the moment he'd seized me out of the shower and he was - as always - doing his best to drag things out as much as possible for me.

But, if I had been able to formulate a coherent thought at that point and convey it to him - which were two higher functioning abilities that I had long since lost to him in this encounter - I would have said something like, "That ain't gonna happen."

I was too close.

I'd been too close for two months now.

And this - this whole thing he had orchestrated for us - felt too fucking amazing to be denied for long, especially with what I knew were those freakishly long fingers playing me like a violin.

I didn't bother to suppress the moans that came out of me. That wasn't going to happen, either. He was so . . . and I was . . . 

I just . . . couldn't even begin to not keen and cry and wail. The feelings were too big to live through trying to bottle them up.

Tom knew. I didn't now how, but he always did when I was at the end of my rope, when I couldn't hold back any longer.

And as I drew in my first truly deep breath in a long while in preparation for screaming bloody murder as I came, while my body grew tenser and tighter around him and I could feel him swell even further within me because of it, as I lost the feeling in my fingertips and other extremities in favor of that unbearable concentration of rapture that was happening between my legs, in that twilight between the acknowledgement and acceptance of the impending explosion and that first heady contraction, he had the presence of mind - and the gall - to whisper another line from the song.

The horribly, terribly, wonderfully apropos song.

" _I want to_ feel _you from the_ inside."

His mouth covered mine as he drank in my uncontrollable cries of just how far he had flung me into the abyss of mindless pleasure he had created for us. I _heard_ nothing, I _saw_ nothing, I _felt_ nothing except that which he brought to our sacred union. 

His next efforts were the most powerful of all and I welcomed each and every one of them as the anchor that it was to him, to the only solid thing in my blissfully ethereal world.

 _Him_.

His lust for me, and mine for him.

His intense love for me, and mine for him.

And this absolutely stunning, staggering, humbling . . . _holy_. . . experience.

I drank in his own surly grunts and groans as he emptied himself deep within me, hips jerking for a long time afterwards, as if he couldn't quite come to grips with the fact that it was over.

For now.

We stayed there for the longest time, clinging to each other, his hands gentling me as I shivered in reaction.

I knew he was at least as deeply affected as I was because of how long it took for him to ask me if I was all right, even though I was shaking the both of us with my soul-deep shudders.

"Oh, sweet love, you must be freezing," he said finally in a worried tone.

The heat lamp had long since gone out and I was still quite damp, but that wasn't really the source of my tremors.

Keeping me tight within his arms - but letting my legs down gently before he moved - he walked with me the few steps to turn them on again then grabbed a towel and began to dry first me, then my hair as best he could, taking his own clothes off in the process since they were just getting me wet again.

Very much as he was, to my pleasant surprise.

When I was dry to his satisfaction, he lifted me back into his arms and brought me into the bedroom, leaning down to pull the sheet and blanket back to tuck me under, leaving me for only a second to turn the heat up then crawling under the covers to collect me to him.

"You'll be warm in a second, I promise," he whispered.

I gave him a sultry look and brought his hand to the part of me that was still spasming in the aftermath. "I already am."

That got me a throaty chuckle. "Far be it for me not to attend to every one of my lady's needs," he murmured as he dragged his mouth down my sides.


End file.
